Ray Lewis will be the star attraction in New Orleans this week. The throng around him at Super Bowl Media Day will be 20 deep, with folks shoving and holding electronics high to record his witty musings.

With slight persuasion he might even cut a few dance moves.

The scene will be somewhat subdued the next two days, but not much. Lewis will predictably speak a lot about his relationship with God, the peace he feels with just one game remaining before retirement, the love he has for football and his teammates and his excitement over a looming career in the media.

What he won’t do—and this is only based on everything up to this point—is talk about THAT.

Does Lewis, Baltimore’s transcendent linebacker, owe anybody an explanation for his role in the death of two men 13 years ago? Some of their family members think he does. Others, particularly Ravens fans, snarl that the sporting media should stick to dissecting the Cover 2.

We’ve just had an exhaustive national conversation and plenty of navel-gazing about whether sports journalists ought to demand proof for anything an athlete says. So if reporters far up the food chain at ESPN and Sports Illustrated should have demanded evidence that a Notre Dame football player’s girlfriend really existed—sort of a ludicrous premise—what should be done about the Lewis conundrum?

Dare ink-stained wretches yell from their perch questions about the still-unknown whereabouts of the bloodstained, cream-colored suit and mink Lewis wore the early morning hours of Jan. 31, 2000? Is it fair play to ask for his response to the still-seething families and friends of Jacinth Baker and Richard Lollar, the two men who were killed following a fight with Lewis and his companions outside a Super Bowl XXXIV party in Atlanta?

A very unscientific guess says about 50 percent of the nation is screaming something like, “No! Lewis went through the legal process, pleaded down from the original charges of two counts of murder to obstruction of justice, a misdemeanor, paid the victims’ families handsomely and has lived a decent, admirable life ever since.” Also: “It was self-defense.”

And the other half growls something about how he got away with murder. Also: His dancing is self-serving. Also: God shouldn’t be used in this charade.

We’re paid to have strong opinions in this space, but I’ll admit this is one time when my brain has gone to mush. Most of it knows he needn’t ever again speak of the events of that night or his subsequent role—especially during the inane circus of Media Day, where sexy Mexican “reporters” and men wearing dog snouts roam—but a tiny bit of the brain is curious. It’s not alone.

To others, the extreme worship of Lewis is obscene. Baker’s uncle Greg Wilson told The Buffalo News this week: “Step up and be the man you claim you are. Step up and tell the truth and quit portraying yourself to the children of America like you’re a hero.

“You ain’t no hero. You ain’t (expletive). Tell the truth, and take it like a man.” Wilson’s bitterness jumps off the screen, and he's not alone. The passing of time hasn't dulled the pain for many, and it would be insensitive for any of us from afar to gripe that they need to get over it.

I was there in Tampa for the 2001 Super Bowl, and still grind my teeth over the vision of then-Ravens coach Brian Billick insufferably criticizing the media for inquiring about the killings. But the subject then was highly relevant. Not even a year had passed since Baker and Lollar, 21 and 24, respectively, were stabbed several times in the heart and upper body during a brawl on a Buckhead street.

Lewis, then 24, and his companions fled the scene in his rented limousine; Baker’s blood was later was discovered in it, and investigators thought they’d find more evidence on Lewis’ clothes if only they knew what happened to them. The limo itself, such a flashy target for would-be thieves, was shot through with bullet holes.

Jailed for 15 days, Lewis eventually struck a deal with prosecutors in exchange for his testimony against two of his friends that night, Reginald Oakley and Joseph Sweeting, but they were acquitted after Lewis never directly linked them to the killings. The double homicide remains unsolved.

Lewis received one year of probation and a $250,000 fine by the NFL for violating its personal conduct policy. Though he has maintained that he acted as a peacekeeper during the melee, testifying that he calmly rested against the limo, he has settled civil suits for undisclosed sums—all include confidentiality clauses. While it’s up to the individuals to decide what is a fair price for a human life, some family members of the deceased are using Lewis’ return to the Super Bowl as an opportunity to ask for more money.

In an otherwise fair and balanced report by the New York Post, a quote that Lewis is said to have uttered “recently” stands out. “If I had to go through all of that over again . . . I wouldn’t change a thing. Couldn’t. The end result is who I am now.”

In a cosmic timeline sense, that’s probably recent. In real life, that quote dates to 2010, from a story in the Baltimore Sun. In it, Ravens guard Edwin Mulitalo says he didn’t think Baltimore would have made it all the way to the Super Bowl had the tragic incident not occurred, because it gave an already great Lewis “extra focus and pushed us over the top.”

So yes, despite Billick’s scolds and rants, the double homicide and its aftermath had some bearing on how Baltimore played throughout that championship season. In the 13 years since the stabbings, Lewis has become a polarizing figure who’s lauded for his charity work and his patriotism, for his inspirational leadership and frothing dominance.

The eyes might roll at his silly dance and constant talk of religion—evangelicals must watch in awe—but isn’t this version of Ray Lewis at least proof that humans can change? On some level that must be celebrated. At some point that must be enough.

“I’m in awe of the work that God can do in one man’s life. To me, Ray’s the epitome of that,” Ravens coach John Harbaugh said last Sunday “Ray’s a guy that has turned everything over. He’s surrendered everything, and he’s become the man that he is to this day. He’s a different man than he was when he was at 22 or 15 or whatever. I think everybody sees that right now. I think it’s a great thing for kids to see. It’s a great thing for fathers to see.”

So moved by Lewis’ transformation, NFL commissioner Roger Goodell has said he’d like to employ him as a special adviser because he’s a "tremendous voice of reason." Conveniently forgetting that Lewis mastered the strong-armed “no comment” over the years, media corporations now line up to hire Lewis as an analyst for next season.

The occupation Lewis says he plans to pursue will demand that he add instructive insight. But sometimes events related to sports are nasty and painful and require even kind people to pass judgment. Sometimes the questions linger for years, decades even.

I wonder what this Ray Lewis—so evolved and inquisitive and a hero to children—would ask from this side of the throng.